Never Finished Fic: After the Funeral
Jul. 17th, 2007 09:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rsadelleI've posted bits of this before, but not all of it. It really needed two more sections and a little cleanup to be a real story.
After the Funeral: Harry
He'd never been to a wizard funeral before. It was different from a Muggle funeral. Instead of a preacher intoning words over a grave, there were wizards, so many wizards, standing in a multi-layered circle around a pyre. Wizards burned bodies. The smoke was thick and oily, and even now he could smell it on his robes. He hadn't cried. Neither had Hermione. They'd stood together next to the Weasleys and been the only ones with dry eyes.
He rhythmically tossed rocks into the pond, listening to the plunk as each one hit the water. Footsteps approached him. There was, he knew, something to the cadence of them that should mean something to him, but he couldn't think of what it was until the large form of a black dog appeared at his side.
He turned and wrapped his arms around the dog's neck, resting against the dog's shoulder. He turned his face against the dog's soft, warm fur and let it absorb the tears that finally began to fall.
He felt the beginning of the change and loosened his arms. Padfoot disappeared and his godfather reappeared in his stead. Harry was gathered into his lap and rocked. The unfamiliar but desperately craved affection made his tears flow faster.
***
After the Funeral: Ginny
She answers the light tap on her door with a listless invitation, and watches one of her brothers come in to sit next to her on the bed.
"You were closest of all of us, weren't you?" Charlie asks with uncommon understanding. He puts an arm around her and she leans into the simple human touch. "And they've all forgotten you." He strokes her hair gently.
"It was just us," she finally says. "For two years, it was just us here all the time." She turns her face into his shoulder.
"And then you went to Hogwarts, and you were only a year apart there."
She nods, a nearly imperceptible movement of skin on cloth.
"Oh, Ginny," he sighs. "I don't know what to tell you."
"You can't bring him back," she says.
"No, I can't."
She straightens away from his touch. "I think I'd like to be alone now."
Charlie leans over and brushes a kiss over the top of her head. "Come down later for dinner." He leaves and closes the door gently.
She stares straight ahead, seeing nothing. She lies down, barely feeling the cool pillowcase against her cheek. Slowly she curls in on herself until she's made herself as small as she can. Her world still isn't small enough, but it helps.
***
After the Funeral: Charlie
I leaned my forehead against her closed door for a moment after leaving her. My baby sister. Our baby sister. I wanted nothing more than to make the world right for her again, but that is something no one could ever do. She asked me to leave her with her grief, and I gave her that.
I went up to my room and scrambled through the assorted detritus of a childhood until I found a still-serviceable broom. The best brooms I'd owned had been given to the younger kids as I'd outgrown them, and my current one was still in my flat in Romania. But there was an older one that would still fly, even if I wouldn't be able to do very many tricks on it. That was just as well, for what I wanted most was just to fly, straight and hard.
I didn't bother going through the house with its danger of being stopped and brought into the orbit of someone else's grief. I went out through the window, a spell Bill and I had rigged up years and years before allowing me to slip through easily and undetected.
I flew as fast as I could nearly to the edges of the town, letting the wind deafen and chill me. I circled the edges of the town, careful not to go too near lest the Muggles see me. The bitter force of the wind brought tears to my eyes, and I let them fall.
I worked my way back toward the Burrow, but stopped short of the garden. I whirled back into the woods and loop through the trees. I've spent so much time on a broom that flying is almost easier than walking.
Only when the shadows overwhelmed the sunlight did I truly turn toward home. I slipped back through my window and carefully stored my broom. I couldn't tell, even after opening my door, if the family was congregating below. But it was sunset, and that meant dinner or past dinner. Someone would be there, in our warm little kitchen that was too small to hold all our grief.
***
After the Funeral: Ron
It was nice where he was. Everything was gray and soft. It was like being wrapped up in an old, cotton t-shirt. It dulled everything. He didn't hurt anymore, and that made him think he must be dead.
He wished he could become a ghost, but he didn't know how and there was no one around to ask. He wondered if maybe that was something they only taught seventh years.
The blankness had been nice for a while, but now he was starting to get bored. He pulled himself up into what was more or less a sitting position, although the empty grayness made it hard to figure out which way was up. He would have liked something to do. A chessboard, a wand, even some homework would make a nice change.
That reminded him of school, and school reminded him of his friends. Harry, well, Harry would be okay. He'd be upset, of course, but people liked him and he had a lot of friends. Hermione, though. She didn't have anyone but him and Harry. And he'd never even told her how much he loved her. He regretted that now, but there wasn't much he could do about it from where he was.
He tapped his fingers against his knee and waited.
***
After the Funeral: Hermione
Hermione rocked mechanically in front of the fire. It was nice where she was. Everything was kind of dulled. Some analytical piece of her mind recognized that it wasn't calm or even true shock. She just hurt too much to be able to begin to feel it.
Somewhere behind her someone was puttering around the kitchen. She could hear the sounds of a cauldron being filled with water. Bill came into her field of view and hung it over the fire. He retreated again and she could hear him rustling through things on one of the shelves. When the water boiled, Bill reappeared and took the cauldron off the fire. He took it with him back to the counter and she could hear him pouring the water. There was silence for a bit, and then he poured water again. She heard the sound of a spoon clinking against a cup.
Bill passed into her field of view again and held out a cup of tea. She took it from him and sipped it automatically. Bill left and came back with a second cup and a small stool. He set down the stool just to her right and sat down to sip his own cup of tea.
"I loved him," Hermione said calmly. "I was in love with him," she corrected herself.
Bill took a slow sip of his tea. He rested one hand on her knee.
Hermione gripped her teacup tighter, then, in one violent motion, threw it into the fireplace. It made a satisfying crash.
***
After the Funeral: Fred and George
I can feel him behind me as I stare out at the garden. I know where he is--on his bed watching my back--and how he's sitting--cross-legged and slumped a little. I don't need our special brand of knowledge to know how he's feeling. He feels the same way I do.
Our baby brother is dead.
"Do you remember the time we hexed his cup so everything tasted bad but only to him?" George asks from behind me.
I smile, just a little bit. "Yeah. And the time we dyed his hair purple."
George chuckles rustily. "And the time we dropped a Gnome on his head."
I laugh, for the first time in what feels like forever even though I know it's only been a few days. "And the time when we spelled his door to drop water on him every time he went in."
I turn to watch George laugh with me. "And the time when we spelled his chess set to be too scared to play."
I'm laughing harder now, and so is George. "And the time we spelled that ladybug to fly in circles around his head."
We're laughing and then his body is pressed against mine and we're both crying. "What are we going to do without him?" he asks softly.
I don't have an answer.
***
After the Funeral: Bill
Ginny had just been born and Ron was still a baby when Bill had gone off to Hogwarts. He'd gotten to know them through a series of summers and holidays, but he'd been closest to Charlie and he'd hardly seen or talked to Ron since he went to Egypt. That didn't mean he didn't feel his loss. It was just that he didn't know what to do about it. He made some tea and sat with Hermione for a while. He understood what made her throw her cup into the fire, and he sat with her even after that.
When there was a knock at the door, he realized he was probably the only person in the house fit to deal with anyone. He left his tea on the counter and went to answer it, only to find Nigel on his doorstep. He knew what to do about that.
"Don't slam the door on me," Nigel said, as Bill started to do just that. "I came to pay my respects. I thought you might want a friendly face around."
Bill snorted. "You're hardly a friendly face."
"My cousin was friends with him," Nigel told him. "Can I come in?"
Bill opened the door wide enough to let him in. "You might as well." He led Nigel to the kitchen and poured him a cup of tea.
"Still making it the old-fashioned way, I see," Nigel commented, nodding to the still half-full cauldron.
"Tastes better that way." Bill stirred some sugar into Nigel's cup and topped off his own. He stroked Hermione's hair gently before taking Nigel into the parlor. He took a seat on the couch and glared at Nigel when he sat beside him.
Nigel ignored it and sipped his tea. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.
Bill snorted. "Yeah, I'm peachy keen."
Nigel smiled ruefully. "Okay. Stupid question." He reached out and put his hand on Bill's leg.
Bill looked down at the hand and back up at Nigel. "Don't."
Nigel put his teacup on a table. "Bill, I regret the way things happened."
Bill got up and walked away from Nigel to look out the window. "Regret, right."
Nigel came to stand with him. "I mean it," he said, wrapping his arms around Bill and resting his chin on Bill's shoulder. "I miss you." He turned his head and brushed his lips along Bill's cheek.
"Don't," Bill told him again, pulling away. "Don't use my brother's death to get me into your bed again."
"I wouldn't-- That's not--" Nigel sounded truly shocked. "That's not why I'm here," he said firmly.
"Then why are you here?"
"I didn't think you should be alone." Nigel gingerly put his arms around Bill again. "If I know your family, Charlie's out flying and everyone else is holed up in their rooms." He stroked Bill's cheek. "You don't want to be alone now."
"No," Bill admitted in a whisper.
Nigel kissed him softly. "So invite me to stay for supper."
Bill smiled faintly. "Would you like to stay for supper?"
Nigel hugged him gently. "Thank you. I would love to."
***
After the Funeral: Molly
Their second floor room was too quiet as she slowly, silently stripped off her funeral robes. Like dress robes, but plain and solid black. She hated them. But she dutifully tucked them into the corner of the closet next to Arthur's.
He reached out his arms to her, and she fell into them gratefully. It was their child they'd burned today. She lifted her face to Arthur's and kissed him. He kissed back and she pushed him down onto their bed. They tumbled each other over and over in a storm of grief-fueled passion.
She cried into his shoulder when it was over.
She awoke alone in their bed with the blanket neatly tucked around her. Arthur's touch, even in the midst of their shared grief.
It was nearing dinner time. She wasn't sure she could eat, but someone had to keep the remaining children fed.
She crawled out of bed and pulled on everyday robes. She flicked her wand at the bed to remake it. The kitchen was nearly empty, only a fire and Hermione. Molly carefully didn't look at the clock with the one hand stuck at midnight. She stopped behind Hermione. She hugged the unmoving girl close and kissed the top of her head. The girl would have been her daughter-in-law.
The rest of her family drifted in while she cooked. The twins first, with both of them giving her tight hugs, and George's murmured "We love you, mum." Percy next, subdued enough to sit quietly with the twins. Ginny, her baby, looking lost and bereft. She came to Molly's side and leaned against her for a long moment while Molly stirred the sauce. Charlie with his hair mussed enough that she was sure he'd gone out the window on his broom. He took the chair next to Ginny and dropped a kiss onto her temple. Arthur, covered in dust from his shed. He came to kiss her, then to the table to be there for the children.
Harry came in with a large, black dog padding at his side. "Sirius," she said, "it's okay." The dog became Harry's human godfather. He touched her shoulder and shook hands with Arthur. Harry pulled Hermione to the table and sat beside her.
Bill came in with another man. "Mum, Dad, this is Nigel." The man was polite, but Molly was furiously, shockingly angry that her son would bring a stranger into the midst of their private grief. Nigel brushed his hand across Bill's shoulder before taking the seat on his other side, and it was with another kind of shock that she realized what this man was to her son.
She put dinner on the table and reached out to Arthur on one side and Ginny on the other. After a moment on incomprehension, the others followed suit until her family was a circle of joined hands.
Molly bowed her head and felt the others do the same. After an endlessly long moment of silence, she looked around the table. "Hermione," she said to the girl across the table, "I'm glad you're here. This is a time for family. You will always be welcome in our home."
She dropped the hands on either side of her and
After the Funeral: Harry
He'd never been to a wizard funeral before. It was different from a Muggle funeral. Instead of a preacher intoning words over a grave, there were wizards, so many wizards, standing in a multi-layered circle around a pyre. Wizards burned bodies. The smoke was thick and oily, and even now he could smell it on his robes. He hadn't cried. Neither had Hermione. They'd stood together next to the Weasleys and been the only ones with dry eyes.
He rhythmically tossed rocks into the pond, listening to the plunk as each one hit the water. Footsteps approached him. There was, he knew, something to the cadence of them that should mean something to him, but he couldn't think of what it was until the large form of a black dog appeared at his side.
He turned and wrapped his arms around the dog's neck, resting against the dog's shoulder. He turned his face against the dog's soft, warm fur and let it absorb the tears that finally began to fall.
He felt the beginning of the change and loosened his arms. Padfoot disappeared and his godfather reappeared in his stead. Harry was gathered into his lap and rocked. The unfamiliar but desperately craved affection made his tears flow faster.
***
After the Funeral: Ginny
She answers the light tap on her door with a listless invitation, and watches one of her brothers come in to sit next to her on the bed.
"You were closest of all of us, weren't you?" Charlie asks with uncommon understanding. He puts an arm around her and she leans into the simple human touch. "And they've all forgotten you." He strokes her hair gently.
"It was just us," she finally says. "For two years, it was just us here all the time." She turns her face into his shoulder.
"And then you went to Hogwarts, and you were only a year apart there."
She nods, a nearly imperceptible movement of skin on cloth.
"Oh, Ginny," he sighs. "I don't know what to tell you."
"You can't bring him back," she says.
"No, I can't."
She straightens away from his touch. "I think I'd like to be alone now."
Charlie leans over and brushes a kiss over the top of her head. "Come down later for dinner." He leaves and closes the door gently.
She stares straight ahead, seeing nothing. She lies down, barely feeling the cool pillowcase against her cheek. Slowly she curls in on herself until she's made herself as small as she can. Her world still isn't small enough, but it helps.
***
After the Funeral: Charlie
I leaned my forehead against her closed door for a moment after leaving her. My baby sister. Our baby sister. I wanted nothing more than to make the world right for her again, but that is something no one could ever do. She asked me to leave her with her grief, and I gave her that.
I went up to my room and scrambled through the assorted detritus of a childhood until I found a still-serviceable broom. The best brooms I'd owned had been given to the younger kids as I'd outgrown them, and my current one was still in my flat in Romania. But there was an older one that would still fly, even if I wouldn't be able to do very many tricks on it. That was just as well, for what I wanted most was just to fly, straight and hard.
I didn't bother going through the house with its danger of being stopped and brought into the orbit of someone else's grief. I went out through the window, a spell Bill and I had rigged up years and years before allowing me to slip through easily and undetected.
I flew as fast as I could nearly to the edges of the town, letting the wind deafen and chill me. I circled the edges of the town, careful not to go too near lest the Muggles see me. The bitter force of the wind brought tears to my eyes, and I let them fall.
I worked my way back toward the Burrow, but stopped short of the garden. I whirled back into the woods and loop through the trees. I've spent so much time on a broom that flying is almost easier than walking.
Only when the shadows overwhelmed the sunlight did I truly turn toward home. I slipped back through my window and carefully stored my broom. I couldn't tell, even after opening my door, if the family was congregating below. But it was sunset, and that meant dinner or past dinner. Someone would be there, in our warm little kitchen that was too small to hold all our grief.
***
After the Funeral: Ron
It was nice where he was. Everything was gray and soft. It was like being wrapped up in an old, cotton t-shirt. It dulled everything. He didn't hurt anymore, and that made him think he must be dead.
He wished he could become a ghost, but he didn't know how and there was no one around to ask. He wondered if maybe that was something they only taught seventh years.
The blankness had been nice for a while, but now he was starting to get bored. He pulled himself up into what was more or less a sitting position, although the empty grayness made it hard to figure out which way was up. He would have liked something to do. A chessboard, a wand, even some homework would make a nice change.
That reminded him of school, and school reminded him of his friends. Harry, well, Harry would be okay. He'd be upset, of course, but people liked him and he had a lot of friends. Hermione, though. She didn't have anyone but him and Harry. And he'd never even told her how much he loved her. He regretted that now, but there wasn't much he could do about it from where he was.
He tapped his fingers against his knee and waited.
***
After the Funeral: Hermione
Hermione rocked mechanically in front of the fire. It was nice where she was. Everything was kind of dulled. Some analytical piece of her mind recognized that it wasn't calm or even true shock. She just hurt too much to be able to begin to feel it.
Somewhere behind her someone was puttering around the kitchen. She could hear the sounds of a cauldron being filled with water. Bill came into her field of view and hung it over the fire. He retreated again and she could hear him rustling through things on one of the shelves. When the water boiled, Bill reappeared and took the cauldron off the fire. He took it with him back to the counter and she could hear him pouring the water. There was silence for a bit, and then he poured water again. She heard the sound of a spoon clinking against a cup.
Bill passed into her field of view again and held out a cup of tea. She took it from him and sipped it automatically. Bill left and came back with a second cup and a small stool. He set down the stool just to her right and sat down to sip his own cup of tea.
"I loved him," Hermione said calmly. "I was in love with him," she corrected herself.
Bill took a slow sip of his tea. He rested one hand on her knee.
Hermione gripped her teacup tighter, then, in one violent motion, threw it into the fireplace. It made a satisfying crash.
***
After the Funeral: Fred and George
I can feel him behind me as I stare out at the garden. I know where he is--on his bed watching my back--and how he's sitting--cross-legged and slumped a little. I don't need our special brand of knowledge to know how he's feeling. He feels the same way I do.
Our baby brother is dead.
"Do you remember the time we hexed his cup so everything tasted bad but only to him?" George asks from behind me.
I smile, just a little bit. "Yeah. And the time we dyed his hair purple."
George chuckles rustily. "And the time we dropped a Gnome on his head."
I laugh, for the first time in what feels like forever even though I know it's only been a few days. "And the time when we spelled his door to drop water on him every time he went in."
I turn to watch George laugh with me. "And the time when we spelled his chess set to be too scared to play."
I'm laughing harder now, and so is George. "And the time we spelled that ladybug to fly in circles around his head."
We're laughing and then his body is pressed against mine and we're both crying. "What are we going to do without him?" he asks softly.
I don't have an answer.
***
After the Funeral: Bill
Ginny had just been born and Ron was still a baby when Bill had gone off to Hogwarts. He'd gotten to know them through a series of summers and holidays, but he'd been closest to Charlie and he'd hardly seen or talked to Ron since he went to Egypt. That didn't mean he didn't feel his loss. It was just that he didn't know what to do about it. He made some tea and sat with Hermione for a while. He understood what made her throw her cup into the fire, and he sat with her even after that.
When there was a knock at the door, he realized he was probably the only person in the house fit to deal with anyone. He left his tea on the counter and went to answer it, only to find Nigel on his doorstep. He knew what to do about that.
"Don't slam the door on me," Nigel said, as Bill started to do just that. "I came to pay my respects. I thought you might want a friendly face around."
Bill snorted. "You're hardly a friendly face."
"My cousin was friends with him," Nigel told him. "Can I come in?"
Bill opened the door wide enough to let him in. "You might as well." He led Nigel to the kitchen and poured him a cup of tea.
"Still making it the old-fashioned way, I see," Nigel commented, nodding to the still half-full cauldron.
"Tastes better that way." Bill stirred some sugar into Nigel's cup and topped off his own. He stroked Hermione's hair gently before taking Nigel into the parlor. He took a seat on the couch and glared at Nigel when he sat beside him.
Nigel ignored it and sipped his tea. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.
Bill snorted. "Yeah, I'm peachy keen."
Nigel smiled ruefully. "Okay. Stupid question." He reached out and put his hand on Bill's leg.
Bill looked down at the hand and back up at Nigel. "Don't."
Nigel put his teacup on a table. "Bill, I regret the way things happened."
Bill got up and walked away from Nigel to look out the window. "Regret, right."
Nigel came to stand with him. "I mean it," he said, wrapping his arms around Bill and resting his chin on Bill's shoulder. "I miss you." He turned his head and brushed his lips along Bill's cheek.
"Don't," Bill told him again, pulling away. "Don't use my brother's death to get me into your bed again."
"I wouldn't-- That's not--" Nigel sounded truly shocked. "That's not why I'm here," he said firmly.
"Then why are you here?"
"I didn't think you should be alone." Nigel gingerly put his arms around Bill again. "If I know your family, Charlie's out flying and everyone else is holed up in their rooms." He stroked Bill's cheek. "You don't want to be alone now."
"No," Bill admitted in a whisper.
Nigel kissed him softly. "So invite me to stay for supper."
Bill smiled faintly. "Would you like to stay for supper?"
Nigel hugged him gently. "Thank you. I would love to."
***
After the Funeral: Molly
Their second floor room was too quiet as she slowly, silently stripped off her funeral robes. Like dress robes, but plain and solid black. She hated them. But she dutifully tucked them into the corner of the closet next to Arthur's.
He reached out his arms to her, and she fell into them gratefully. It was their child they'd burned today. She lifted her face to Arthur's and kissed him. He kissed back and she pushed him down onto their bed. They tumbled each other over and over in a storm of grief-fueled passion.
She cried into his shoulder when it was over.
She awoke alone in their bed with the blanket neatly tucked around her. Arthur's touch, even in the midst of their shared grief.
It was nearing dinner time. She wasn't sure she could eat, but someone had to keep the remaining children fed.
She crawled out of bed and pulled on everyday robes. She flicked her wand at the bed to remake it. The kitchen was nearly empty, only a fire and Hermione. Molly carefully didn't look at the clock with the one hand stuck at midnight. She stopped behind Hermione. She hugged the unmoving girl close and kissed the top of her head. The girl would have been her daughter-in-law.
The rest of her family drifted in while she cooked. The twins first, with both of them giving her tight hugs, and George's murmured "We love you, mum." Percy next, subdued enough to sit quietly with the twins. Ginny, her baby, looking lost and bereft. She came to Molly's side and leaned against her for a long moment while Molly stirred the sauce. Charlie with his hair mussed enough that she was sure he'd gone out the window on his broom. He took the chair next to Ginny and dropped a kiss onto her temple. Arthur, covered in dust from his shed. He came to kiss her, then to the table to be there for the children.
Harry came in with a large, black dog padding at his side. "Sirius," she said, "it's okay." The dog became Harry's human godfather. He touched her shoulder and shook hands with Arthur. Harry pulled Hermione to the table and sat beside her.
Bill came in with another man. "Mum, Dad, this is Nigel." The man was polite, but Molly was furiously, shockingly angry that her son would bring a stranger into the midst of their private grief. Nigel brushed his hand across Bill's shoulder before taking the seat on his other side, and it was with another kind of shock that she realized what this man was to her son.
She put dinner on the table and reached out to Arthur on one side and Ginny on the other. After a moment on incomprehension, the others followed suit until her family was a circle of joined hands.
Molly bowed her head and felt the others do the same. After an endlessly long moment of silence, she looked around the table. "Hermione," she said to the girl across the table, "I'm glad you're here. This is a time for family. You will always be welcome in our home."
She dropped the hands on either side of her and